


The Draw (ON INDEFINITE HIATUS)

by GetDunkedOn



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anxiety, Bullying, Chubby Jean, Depression, Eating Disorders, Marco has OCD, Multi, Probably going to be slow burning but I don't know, Pyrophobia, Weight insecurity, binge eating, burn scars, but he thinks marco is pretty so, idk it gets pretty angsty, jean is sad a lot, just general angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-04-17 16:25:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4673513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GetDunkedOn/pseuds/GetDunkedOn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean Kirschtein is a chubby, aspiring author and artist. After starting his creative writing course at university, his past catches up with him and suddenly, his life doesn't feel like it's on track any more. He meets someone he was hoping to forget about, and before long, he's suffering the depression he was hoping to leave behind him. Only a mysterious, toned man with a packet of post-it notes can change things this time, and he needs to do it before things go from bad to worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Get Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MorganAnne14](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorganAnne14/gifts).



> This is an AU that's popular among me and my friends, and I spent a long time on the first chapter alone! I named the story 'The Draw' after the song by Bastille, since it seems to describe the feeling of depression quite nicely. I hope you enjoy.
> 
> EDIT: I guess I would promote this on Tumblr but I feel kinda scared to. Dunno why. But, uh, yeah. Might throw it around into the jeanmarco tag there at some point-

When you're a person like me, you don't wake up to a regular alarm clock at six AM. You wake up to the door bursting open, your curtains being swung wide and your best friend screaming the iconic 'Oh My God!' from  _Trolls 2_  in your face. I don't have to open my eyes to know who it is. He's the shortest college student I've ever seen, for sure. His hair used to be light brown, but he shaved the whole mop off when he was sixteen. He's kept his head looking like a bowling ball ever since then, and I have no idea where he keeps the time  to re-cut his hair every two weeks.   
  
"Connie, you ass." I yawn into my pillow, pulling the covers over myself firmly.  "Let me sleep just a... A little longer." I groan. He pulls his phone out and tries to shine the light into my face. I have to reach up and cover my eyes with one arm, wiping away the cold sweat which has seemingly formed through the night. When I sweat in the night, it's usually because I've had a nightmare. The nightmares come frequently these days, but I've tried to teach myself to ignore them. It's not the easiest thing to do, but it's better than having them at the back of your mind all throughout the day.  
  
"Dude, I'm serious. There was some shit in my room and if you don't get up now, you're not gonna make it to class." He tells me. Knowing the great Connie Springer, I wouldn't be judged too harshly if I took that explanation of his literally. He's the party-goer in my dorm house, and God knows who's been in his room as of late. He grabs my shoulder and shakes it in a desperate attempt to make me get up. I take my arm away from my face to bat him away, but I open my eyes. Everything is fuzzy, and it's times like this where I feel surprised I was never prescribed glasses in my life.   
  
"What time is it?" I croak, yawning once again. It's fucking freezing in my room, because nobody can be bothered to pay the central heating bills. To Connie, I must look like a huge mound of blankets with a head peeking out. I roll onto my back and stare at the guy, finally giving in to the abundance of light in the room. I just want to stare at the ceiling, since everything else is too bright and detailed for my eyes to cope with.  
  
"It's, like, seven. Seriously, your first lecture is at eight. Get up." He lowers his tone, and suddenly he seems more serious than before. I'm not used to this side of him. His voice and the time combined catch me off guard, and all I can do is fall out of bed altogether. Well, at least I'm awake. I struggle my way out of the pile of blankets I've pulled with me onto the decaying wooden floor, and get to my feet. Connie's much shorter than me, and I find it hilarious whenever I look down at him. He's dressed in a pair of joggers and a varsity jacket, but I doubt he's actually showered today. I'm in a long sleeved shirt and my own pair of joggers, but I'd never be caught wearing them anywhere but in the comfort of my shitty little bedroom.  
  
"Shit, Jean. Your hair's a mess. What were you doing last night, anyway?" He's speaking with his mouth full, trying to cram a Hershey's bar in before he leaves for his own class.  Seriously, Connie? Chocolate for breakfast? Grow up.  
  
"I was sleeping. What were you doing, shagging one of the girls from that dorm up the road?" I respond, pushing past him towards the bathroom. He snorts at my response, attempting to flick the side of my head as I walk by. He doesn't though, since I have eight inches on him. That's actually pretty lucky, since the amount of times he's tried to ruffle my undercut is unbelievable.   
  
"Hey, at least I get girls." He's still laughing as he speaks, and my only real concern is whether he's gonna choke on that 'meal' he's munching his way through. I grab a towel from the rack on the landing and stumble into the bathroom. I feel like a zombie, the way I can barely see and I'm so tired I might as well fall over. I hang the towel on the unused radiator, lock the door and start stripping my pyjamas.   
  
When I'm in anything less than a pair of pants and a shirt, I tend to avoid mirrors. There's a pretty big one in here, so I do my best not to look at it. I end up grabbing the towel off the radiator and slinging it over the mirror, just to be safe. After that, I brush my teeth and climb into the shower.   
  
Normally, I dislike people who spend so long in the shower. Hate to admit it, but I'm actually one of them. The shower is where I do most of the thinking that actually matters - stuff like the fact that Neil Armstrong was an alien, and all that important shit. The hot water's not working once again, so the shower runs cold. I don't actually mind, since I prefer cold showers. They tend to wake me up, they're unpleasant enough to make me go faster, and they soothe the scars littered all over my body. They're years old, but they still hurt from time to time. Only about three people have ever seen them - well, three people and a shitload of nurses and doctors I hope I never have to see again. Take it from me, hospitals suck ass. 

After my shower, I wrap the towel around my waist and head back to my room. It's lighter in here now, and I fling myself at the window then shut the curtains before any of our asshole neighbours peek in on me. I think Connie's left by now, but I can't say that for my other roommate, so I slam the door closed too. Making sure the towel doesn't unravel itself from my waist, I go to look in the wardrobe. I pull on some underwear, and then I have to pick my outfit. Let's see, long sleeved shirt, or long sleeved shirt with logo? My fashion sense has too much variety for me to choose. I grab a simple red and white shirt, slipping it over my body.   
  
I only have about three sets of pants I ever wear outside - two pairs of jeans and some khakis I wore in an interview once. Never again. I pull on the darker pair of jeans I own, slipping a belt through the slots and tightening it as much as it will allow. I put on my socks and some red converse to match my shirt, but I'm not done yet. At the bottom of the wardrobe, I have a shoebox. It's full of the stuff I usually don't go leaving just anywhere. Things like old memories, I guess. I bend down and open it. Laying neatly, are a pair of black leather gloves. They're a little tattered, but they've stayed with me since I was fifteen. Admittedly, I wear them every day, so they're not gonna be in the best condition. I try to keep them tailored nicely, though, which is why I've taken up sewing. I pull them over my hands, their soft, leather surface brushing against my skin.  _Now_ I'm ready to start the day.

* * *

  
Slinging my backpack over my shoulder, I make my way towards the lecture theatre. I don't live far from it, so I don't have to worry too much. As I walk, a skinny girl with obviously dyed red hair catches up to me, sipping iced coffee and working her way through a packet of chips.  She's the other person from my dorm house. We're expecting a couple more people to move in, but at the moment it's just us three.   
  
"Hey, Jean! Looking forward to your first day?" She sounds so optimistic. Her ponytail flicks in the morning breeze, and I'm finding it pretty distracting. She shoves the corner of her chip packet into her mouth and straightens out her skirt, which has a pattern of BMOs all over it. She has pretty good taste, compared to my bland attire.  
  
"Of course I am, Sasha. Who doesn't want to spend an hour of being talked at by some old professor while the silence of everyone else fills up your anxiety?" I talk in a tremendous deadpan, which makes Sasha stop for a second. She takes another sip of her coffee, and then hands it to me. I don't know what else to do, so I take it. She straightens out her hair and then grabs the coffee out of my hand again. I feel like I'm just being used as some kind of table right now.  
  
"You know, Jean, it's all right if you're scared. I kinda am too, but my first class isn't for another hour. You'll be fine. Just... Take notes and shit, right?" Sasha always seems to want to be positive. So does Connie, actually. I'm the depressed fuck of the group, as always. I'm always  _that_ one. Connie somehow manages to pick up all the cute girls, Sasha  _is_ the cute girl, and then there's me. I don't think I'm particularly attractive. People tell me I have a horse face, and as for my body, well, I've looked better.  _Way_ better. Back when I was fucking fourteen, that is. The funny thing is, as much as I may hate how I look, I feel pretty content with everything else. I mean, I have friends, and I'm at least surviving the hardships of life. I have an  _okay_ personality, to say the least.   
  
Sasha and I walk across campus to our first priorities, parting ways at a little fountain junction.  The building I'm going to is tall and covered with these sickly green windows that make me want to vomit. I think it's trying to look modern or edgy by being practically made of glass, but it really just seems impractical. Why would anyone want someone looking in at them like that? I think it's a pretty shitty building design. Luckily, I only need to copy down notes in this first class of mine. Besides, as I enter the building and find the room I'm headed for, I discover that the lecture theatre is thankfully glass-free. The walls are painted green and a slightly off-putting shade of white. The wooden seats go down like stairs, and they're all accompanied by long desks that snake around the room in front of every seat. I actually made it on time, but the room is mostly full by now. It seems everyone made a beeline for the back seats, like the immature kids at a middle school passing eachother notes and playing tic-tac-toe on the back of their book. Since I can't sit at the back and ignore everyone, I go to sit somewhere in the middle. Being close up to the front intimidates me, and I don't need that stress on my mind.   
  
I discover not so long later that I wasn't the last one here. Nobody comes to sit by me directly, but  a brunette guy with tanned skin emerges in the same row as me. I can't see his face but something about him feels familiar. Knowing me, I don't have enough friends to assume me and this guy meeting would be a good idea. So, I avoid eye contact and try to pretend this guy isn't here. I'm not looking. You, sir, don't exist to me. I stare at the blank projector in front of me to try and take my mind of this mysterious person who's giving me an uncomfortable sense of deja vu. He's much more relaxed about looking around though, and I clench my fist in annoyance. He still hasn't said anything, and for a moment I feel I might actually be safe. Then, he just has to go and open his fucking mouth.  
  
"...Jean? Is that you?" I've god damn jinxed myself, haven't I? I shouldn't have worried so much, and maybe I wouldn't be so stressed all of a sudden. I continue staring at the projector, willing the professor to waltz in and start the lecture so he can shut up. "Oh my god. It  _is_ you!" He sounds pleasantly surprised, but I'm not willing to take any chances. I have a valid reason for avoiding him. I just never thought he'd turn up  _here._  
  
"Shut up, Eren." I hiss quietly, still not dignifying him with my line of sight. He scoots up slightly closer, and I just want him to leave me alone. I look down and pull a notepad out of my backpack, anticipating a pile of useless-seeming notes to be copied out inside it. I stare down at it. I'll look at everything that  _isn't_ Eren Jaeger if I have to. I just know how badly this'll end. Call me a pessimist, antisocial, whatever. I don't care. Just get this guy away from me.  
  
"Jesus fuck, man. You've changed. I almost didn't recognise you there, with that shitty new haircut and the... uh, weight. What happened to being the middle school's supermodel, huh?" Yep,  _real good_ reasons for avoiding him. His tone is becoming more malicious by the second, and I don't like it. Why can't he just fuck off and mind his own business? I twirl a ballpoint pen between my fingers, trying to ignore his snarky comments. "And what's with those gloves, anyway? They look like the kind of shit a biker would wear. Fuck, you've like, fallen apart since back then, haven't you? What, did you just decide, 'oh, I'll give up my amazing life to turn into a pity-"  
  
"What makes it any of your business, Jaeger?" I cut him off, finally turning to look at him. He's changed too. His face is chiselled and his eyes are greener than ever. His hair isn't as messy and unassembled as it was before, and he actually looks a lot more put-together than I ever remember him being. "People fucking change, you don't have to point it out." I glare at him. I really, truly wish I could punch him in the face right now. Mostly, just because he exists. He'd better not torment me every time he sees me, now. He inhales to say something more, but before he can speak, the entire room shuts up. Eren does too, which is lucky. I look away to see what all the fuss is about. Someone's walked onto the presentation stage. She's very short and has a fluffy bob-cut of ginger hair. She looks slightly older than most of the people in the room, so I can only assume she must be our teacher. She introduces us all to the topic of creative writing studies, but I'm not focussed enough to hear her exact words.  
  
"I'm Professor Ral, and I'll be with you for a while, but I don't bite." She has quite a sweet smile on her face, so I hope she's not gonna be too strict. I can't stand strict authority figures.  She switches the projector board on and flicks through a nicely-decorated powerpoint. I can't seem to focus on the words in the presentation, or her voice either. It's only when the doors behind us unexpectedly burst open that my attention is actually won over.  
  
"Sorry I'm late, I was just- I got caught up in something, and I had to deal with it first, and... Sorry." Some student's arrived about five minutes late. Professor Ral gives him a sweet smile, and I'm starting to like her more and more.   
  
"Oh, everybody makes mistakes sometimes. It's your first day, don't worry yourself." So far, I like Professor Ral. Her attitude's bringing me up a little, but I'm still pissed off and mildly upset. The professor gestures to a seat in my row, on the other side of Eren. "Just sit down there and we'll carry on like normal. We're only on the introduction, so really, don't worry." Her voice is as sweet as her personality, and her hair's strawberry blonde colour matches too. The student in question rushes down the steps and slides into our row. He pulls out a notebook and some pencils, and sets them out extremely neatly. The pencils are all lined up, coded by how long they are, and they're in perfect parallel to the notebook. It's satisfying to look at but it must be a pain to do that all the time. Since both him and Eren are looking down at Professor Ral, I take it as my duty to analyse him more closely. His skin is tan, but not as much as Eren's, and it's scattered with freckles. From what I can tell, he's either slim or hiding a pack of abs behind that shirt and sweater. His arms just seem too bulky for him to be skinny. His face is attractive, in a cute way. Kinda like a puppy. He has an innocent smile, a soft, round nose and big, brown eyes. For someone who seems so adorable, it feels weird to imagine, he has such nicely toned biceps.   
  
I stare at the guy for a moment longer, before averting my attention back to the projector. I copy down notes when I need to, but they don't exactly register in my head. Besides, Eren's presence is still bugging me, and I don't notice for a long while, but I've been staring down at my notebook with an aggravatingly sad expression for the majority of the lesson. I feel as if someone's been looking over at me, but I don't want to risk looking back over to realise it's been Eren the whole time.   
  
Before I know it, the lecture's ended and we're all packing up to leave. Eren's decided not to say anything more to me, but he keeps shooting me glares. I try to wave it off, but it still gets to me. He whips out his phone to text someone, so at least I know he'll leave me alone while he does that. I walk off hastily, deciding I don't want to linger around him any longer. The freckled guy even  _looks_ shy now, and he has his arms folded as he walks out of the theatre. He doesn't seem to want to look anywhere but the floor. I wonder if he's just embarrassed from entering late, but I'm not exactly the best at reading people. I decide it's best just to avoid looking at him in case it makes him feel worse. 

* * *

  
Okay, so my day clearly hasn't run as nicely as I was hoping it would. I was hoping for at least a little break from the things that drag me down at the back of my mind, but now that I know Eren still lives on the planet, everything's suddenly going downhill. He brings back memories I thought I'd forgotten. I wish they really were still gone from my head.  After all my classes for the day, I suddenly feel a lot more worn out than I'd hoped I would be. I sprawl out on the sofa in my dorm house, drinking a bitter cup of coffee that makes my throat tingle. It's been almost an hour since I got home, but even with the coffee I still feel tired. I decide to check my phone to see if that'll help wake me up a little. But, if all else fails, a roommate flinging himself onto your body is sure to do the trick.  
  
"Connie, I- Get off, you fucker." I wheeze out, shocked by the blow. He slides off me and sits on the armrest of the chair. I put down my phone to look at him. I think the glare I used on Eren might've been stuck on my face all day, since Connie's now in the presence of it.  
  
"I haven't seen you look so pissed off in years. What happened? Spill." He leans his head against the wall, watching me. I think he knows I'm going to tell him. I may act pissed off and quiet a lot of the time, but I always seem to open up to those I'm close to.  _Only_ the people I'm close to, though. I don't need a bunch of random dickheads knowing about my personal problems.  
  
"I met someone today who took my mood and shoved it off a cliff." I mutter, sitting up and folding my arms. I take another sip of my coffee, which miraculously still hasn't cooled down from its lava-hot state.   
  
"Has everything gotta be so poetic with you? Jeez. Anyway, who was it? Who do I need to kill? I know a guy." Classic Connie, always trying to threaten the people who annoy him. He's more like an angry chihuahua. He's my friend, though, so I have to play along whether I like it or not.   
  
"Just some a-hole. Doesn't matter, okay? I'll get over it." I kinda doubt myself right now. I have a history with Eren nobody ever talks about. I don't want it to be brought back, or worse, reversed. I have all these shitty memories tucked away at the edge of my mind and I wish they'd never happened in the first place. I feel guilty, actually. All of this is because the fucking twat had to go and show up in my university course. That complete shit.   
  
"All right. If you say so. But if he lays a finger on you, I'm calling Enrico." He rests his elbow on the back of the sofa. He thinks he sounds so cool, having all these connections. I don't think anyone actually knows who this 'Enrico' guy is except for him.  
  
"What, you gonna hire me a hitman? I can handle myself." I reply, a smirk forming on my face. He actually nods. Suddenly, I don't want to take everything Connie says so lightly. Seriously, he's a nice guy, but he can actually be terrifying when he needs to be. Well, more of a 'could potentially blow up an entire building by pressing the wrong button on the TV remote' terrifying.  
  
"He wouldn't actually kill anyone, but he knows how to beat the crap out of douchemongers." He cracks his knuckles as he speaks. He may be my friend, but if he's serious, I think he needs to get over himself just a little. At least this gives me a reason not to tell him who's bothering me. I've spent enough time in my life spreading my stupid problems onto other people. I should probably keep them to myself - then I wouldn't get on people's nerves so much. I can hold my head high and still have problems, can't I?  
  
Sasha enters shortly after we've both stopped speaking. She comes to sit by me, positive and bouncy as ever. I'm glad she didn't come in sooner, or she would've noticed my bad mood and fallen into one herself. She likes seeing her friends happy - which is probably why the first thing she greets me with destroys my mood once again.  
  
"So, how were your days?" I feel like if I just tell her everything's fine, she'll believe me and move on. But obviously her bald boyfriend thinks it's a perfect moment to supposedly stick up for me.  
  
"Jean's pissed off with someone from his course." Thank you, Connie, for completely ruining my plan. Now, Sasha's going to get curious.  
  
"Aw, what happened?" She slings an arm around my shoulders. Oh, yeah. The other thing is that she's clingy as hell. I'm not exactly a fan of physical contact, but I have to put up with it because it's Sasha.  
  
"Just what he said. Some annoying douche from  my course. I'll get over it, it's nothing." I wave it off. I can't let them know it was Eren, because I have no idea how they'd react. They'd either both get overprotective of me, or our relationship would go down the fucking drain in an instant. I need to deal with this problem on my own, even if it drags me down.


	2. Bite Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean, Connie and Sasha go to get some food, but it doesn't go as planned. Jean wonders about his new house-mate.

It's not long before Sasha decides it's time we all go to get her favourite thing - food. There's a dining hall on campus and she's desperate to drag Connie and I over to it. I'm honestly not particularly interested in going to a hall full of people who like to watch and stare, but Connie wants to go too. I'm trying to grow out of that one stereotype of depression where you always stay inside, so I have to oblige. I have to make myself do stuff all the other people do. Maybe I'll be happier that way.  
  
"So, what else happened today? Meet anyone new?" Sasha won't stop bugging me with questions. We're walking down the path on the way to the lunch hall, and the sky's starting to get cloudy. It's getting just a little cooler than it was earlier today too, and Sasha latches herself onto me.  "Ah, so warm..."  
  
"That's because it's not that cold out anyway." I respond, still attempting to walk as she slides her arms right around me and holds me. She's only wearing a tank top and a skirt, so I can kinda see where she's coming from. All I own are warm clothes, so the cold doesn't bother me so much. While I'm being dragged down by Sasha, Connie uses the opportunity to reach up and flick my hair. I think he only does it because he's bald himself.   
  
"Ha! Finally! See? Not so tiny after all." Aw, he sounds so proud. I manage to straighten myself out again before he can do any more damage. I hate it when people ruin my hair, which is probably why I've made sure all my friends are shorter than me. Sometimes I feel like it's the only thing on me that ever looks right, even if I change the style every day. I pull an arm out from Sasha's mighty grip and fix my hair.  
  
"Does it look okay?" I ask, looking down at Connie. He can tell I'm serious now, so he wipes that stupid, proud grin off his face. He takes a gulp of his  _monster_  and wipes his mouth on his sleeve before he says anything.  
  
"Yeah, you look fine. I don't get why you worry so much. You ask if you look okay every single day, Jean." I have my reasons, and Connie knows I do. This isn't the first time he's questioned them, though. I can't help but ask, since it usually reassures me when I feel low. Otherwise, I'll spend the whole day feeling anxious. My friends find it annoying, and I know that. I just need their input to feel happy sometimes. See, I might act like a loner, but I really do enjoy other people's company from time to time.  
  
We step into the hall, and it's bustling with people. Sasha still hasn't let go of me, but I know she will when we get to the food counter. In fact, she practically flies over to it, taking my hand and dragging me with her. Connie lines up in between us, which I'm thankful for, since now she'll have to grab onto him instead of me. They make a cute couple, actually. They didn't start dating until not so long ago, but I've expected it to happen since we first met in middle school. We've all been friends for so long that I don't think we could ever even break up any more. We're just kinda... there. That trio of friends in the background.  It's a pity, since I'm probably the most dislikeable one in the group. The self-proclaimed asshole. It's for a good reason, though.  
  
After grabbing our food, I lead the group to a table. I pick one right at the corner of the hall, where there aren't a lot of people hanging about. I set my tray down and sit, resting my head in the palm of my hand. I don't feel ready to eat straight away. Connie and Sasha sit beside me and dig in as soon as their asses hit the seats. Their plates are stacked like towers, while my meal is more reserved. What more can I say? I don't like to eat in public. After a few minutes of peering around the room, I give in and take a spoonful of pasta. At least this university has nice food.   
  
As I look around at all the people in here, I can begin to pick out a few faces I recognise. Eren Jaeger's here, but thank fucking god, he hasn't spotted me. He's with a pretty big group. Great. I never thought that in my lifetime I'd call Eren intimidating, but he's definitely coming off that way with a group of friends like that. I don't recognise a lot of them, except for one. As much as I loathe that Jaeger asshole, I've always had an eye for his sister. She's gorgeous, strong-willed and she's not even blood-related to the guy. The only problem is that whenever I think of her, Eren comes to mind either way. His face brings me guilt, and I can't even look at either of them for long before I start to feel my heart wither up. I don't even mean that in a poetic sense. Heart palpitations. I look down at my meal again, trying to take my mind off all the negativity. I look back up, but this time at my friends. Jesus Christ, they're already halfway through their own food.  
  
"Is anyone supposed to be moving in with us soon?" I ask, and Sasha turns to face me. Her mouth is full, so she swallows and pours her cup of coke right down her throat before she speaks.  
  
"Yeah, one person. They had the option to move into a shared room, but they took our rent ad instead." She informs me, an innocent grin stretching from ear to ear. That's when she notice my expression, which I'm guessing is below-average.  "Jeez, are you okay? You look kinda... sad. Don't you like the food?" Her ignorance can usually either be taken adorable or annoyingly. Right now, I feel pretty annoyed. It's not about the damn food. There's a lot more to Sasha than her appetite,  but sometimes I doubt she actually sees me the same way. I look down at the pasta again and take another spoonful, this time partially out of spite. Sasha puts a hand on my shoulder, though, so I guess this isn't over just yet.   
  
"Sorry, it's just that you've barely eaten yet and I just assumed... You can tell Connie and I if something's bugging you, mkay?" Her voice is kind, and it brings my mood up just a little bit. Even so, I can't help but feel like I don't want to listen to her. It's as if there's a voice at the back of my head telling me I shouldn't rely on my friends for help;  that all I'm doing is bothering them. All I ever seem to do with these guys these days is rant about my shitty problems, and it must be getting on their nerves by now.   
  
"Is this about that dude from earlier? Like I said, I can get him fucked up for you." Connie chimes in, a sinister smirk on his pale, round face. No. Definitely not, now that I know Eren has a huge group to fall back on. I'd be one hundred percent fucked up the ass. I just wish I  was somewhere else, every time I see him in the same room as me. I'm only glad Connie and Sasha have stuck by me, even after learning about me and him. I guess they can sense change, unlike others.  
  
I go quiet for a moment, simply shaking my head in response to Connie. He seems disappointed, to say the least. I don't like this silence, though. I decide it's best to just treat everything like normal.  
  
"So, who is it moving in with us?" I question, still refusing to look up. If it'll make Sasha feel any better, I eat more of my pasta.   
  
"Dunno who it is yet, but he sounded nice on the phone. He's gonna move in with us next week." Sasha informs me. I nod, not feeling like saying much. So, it's another guy. Sasha's always been a tomboy, so it's no surprise she's living in a dorm house with a bunch of dudes. You wouldn't expect it though, since she doesn't  _dress_ like a tomboy. Her wardrobe consists of fandom shirts, knee-high socks and skirts. She acts like a guy in a pretty get-up. In other words, she's the perfect match for Connie.  
  
I can't keep my eyes down on the table for the whole time we're here. I have to look around more. Staring at a slab of wood with my plate of half-eaten food is actually starting to make me feel a little claustrophobic, as if there's nowhere to move beyond what I can see. I tilt my head up, and I know that as long as I don't look at the table that brunette fuckhead sits at, I'll be okay.   
  
A lot of the other tables are pretty full up, but there's still the occasional table sparse of people. One table catches my eye. Only three people are sitting at it, and I recognise two of them. One of them is that freckled guy from my creative writing lecture. The other one is much shorter, and has blonde hair. He looks a little effeminate, though that's probably due to him having a bob-cut. He looks like a prepubescent He-Man, though I can guarantee you he's at least eighteen. I know that, because I know  _him_. His name is Armin Arlert, and the first thing I can think is,  _'why aren't you sitting with that dickhole you call your best friend?'_. I went to school with this guy, and back in middle school he would follow Eren around wherever he went. He doesn't upset me the same way Eren's sister does, however. He's helped me through a lot during my life. The only problem is that he's quiet and timid, and regardless of how nice he may have been to me, he's still always just been one of Eren's cronies in my eyes.  
  
I decide to watch this table for a moment, simply to see if I can learn anything about this group from halfway across the room. The third person on the table is a girl with thick black hair, and she keeps goggling at the freckled guy. He smiles up at her nervously, and then goes back to his food. From this angle, I can see a pattern. Just as he did with his stationary back at the lecture this morning, the freckled guy's tray is completely aligned. Every portion of food is of equal amount and separated, and his cutlery is lined out neatly at the side. The more I look at him, the more I notice how his appearance works with that idea. His hair is parted at the centre and there's no stray hair to be seen - at least from this distance. Along with his athletic build,  he seems perfect. Just a little too much. Armin says something to him, and he chuckles. He's just fascinating to look at. Except, there's something else about him. Every so often, he'll look my way. He's probably just staring off in my general direction, but it's still odd. I decide to wave it off, since it's probably nothing.   
  
I finish my food after a while, and dump it in the bin. Connie and Sasha have been done for what seems like ages, and they've been waiting for me to finish. As we're preparing to leave, however, everything just has to fuck up.  
  
"Kirschtein! Enjoy your meal?" We should've taken the other exit. I'd spent so long staring at the freckled guy and Armin that I forgot this douchebag is still here. "Or was it just a light snack for you, huh? A full plate of pasta?" I can feel the heart palpitations coming back with every word he says. I should have expected this. If this complete and utter piece of  shit was gonna attack me over anything, it would be my weight. Look, I can understand that he didn't expect it - it's true that when I went to school with him, I was slim. Toned, even. But Eren is a perfect example of someone who doesn't understand the concept of change. I wish he'd leave me be. I've left him alone for four years, so why does he think it's a good idea to bring it all back? Realistically, I think we'd both be happier if we both pretended eachother didn't exist. Connie and Sasha stand at my side, and Sasha reaches to hold my hand. I take it, but I feel embarrassed to. Eren notices instantly.   
  
"Don't take any notice of him." Sasha whispers, and attempts to pull me towards the exit. I can't seem to bring myself to move, however.  My heart feels like it's about to beat right out of my chest. I dig my fingers into Sasha's hand, and stare down at Eren. He has a shit-eating grin that I want to punch off of his smug face.   
  
"You still have those gloves on? You're not fucking edgy, if that's what you think." He scorns, pushing his plate away from himself. "I'm done. Want the leftovers?" He's smirking, and I want to just disappear. He should know better than to fucking do this, not just to me but to anyone. I bet he fucking thinks I deserve it. Maybe, I do. As if every shitty moment in my life hasn't already been enough.  
  
"Jean, let's  _go._ " Sasha murmurs, this time a little more forcefully. I gulp, nod and start walking away. Connie and Sasha stay close to me, as if they're body guards to me or something.   
  
"You forgot dessert!" Eren calls after me, taunting me as I leave.   
  
I feel sick, like I'm going to vomit. As soon as we're out of sight from Eren, Sasha clings to me again. This time, though, it's not because she's cold. She's hugging me, stretching her arms around my waist. Connie pats my arm reassuringly. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do. I appreciate their concern and all, but how am I supposed to respond? I stare off into the darkening distance. The sun's setting, and it's getting colder.   
  
"Eren's the one upsetting you, isn't he?" Sasha queries, her face pressed into my chest. She's not looking at my face, so she doesn't notice when I nod.   
  
"Try to ignore him. He's still just a little butthurt. He... He'll get over it." Connie encourages me, though I doubt it. Eren hates my guts. I know that for a fact. Now he has something to tease me about, it's only going to get worse. I'm just so tired of bad things happening. I never want to do anything any more. I'd rather just sleep and eat. Fuck getting a degree if I'm going to have to deal with this for four years. 

* * *

  
The whole week's gone to shit, just as I suspected it might. Eren won't stop pestering me with stupid remarks about my appearance, and I can barely concentrate on any of my coursework. I still don't know who's going to be moving in with us, but I'm nervous as hell. What if he turns out to be friends with Eren? What if he turns out to be an asshole, or a nutcase? It's times like these where I can only ever seem to anticipate the worst, and I fucking hate it. Everything gets me anxious, and that sickening feeling of doubt hasn't left my mind for three years. I'm always terrified something awful's going to happen to me or someone else. And the worst thing? I feel like, if that ever  _did_ happen, it'd be my fault. I wouldn't be surprised, since it wouldn't be the first time. And I hate it. I fucking hate everything I do.  
  
So, here I am, lying in a cool bath at eleven at night. Ranting to myself, since I feel too fucking nervous to ask anyone else to listen. For someone who used to be so proud and almighty, I sure am shy now. I stare up at the ceiling. The bare lightbulb flickers from time to time, and there's a moth hovering around it. Stupid, silly moth. Don't you get that lightbulbs can burn? Idiot.   
  
I've come to realise that I do this a lot, staying in the bath for so long. I like it when the water's cold, since it's soothing. I just have to ignore the shivers it sends up my spine. It gives me time to reflect on things. Right now, all I can think about is how much I'm probably going to hate my life at university.  I never knew one person alone could get to me so much, but he has. Eren Jaeger, everybody. Ruining my mental health just by existing. I really do wish he'd just been left behind in my teen years. I have better things to get on with. I have a life.   
  
The only problem with reflecting on my life in the bath for an hour at a time, is that I have to be naked to do it. If you know me, you'll know that no matter how proud I might act, I still have insecurities. I'm still fucking human. I don't like my body. It's my fault it's like this. I destroyed myself when I was fifteen and now that Eren's here, it might as well happen all over again. I wonder if Connie and Sasha know I have all these inner battles.  Sure, they know I spend a lot of time in the bathroom, but I still have no idea if they know what's tearing me apart so much. 

* * *

  
I wake up way too early on a Sunday morning. I can hear something going on downstairs, but I don't want to go and check it out just yet. It's like, what? Eight AM? I just want to sleep. With the thin walls in this shitty dorm house, I can still hear every word the people downstairs are saying. I can hear Connie, Sasha, and someone else. I don't recognise the voice straight away, but it feels familiar. I'm not sure who it is, but I have a hunch. I just didn't expect our new room-mate to be coming so early. I yawn and try to settle down, but I hear a knock on my bedroom door.  
  
"Jean, get up. New guy's here." She tells me from the other side of the door. I groan and hide under the bed covers. Great. Socialisation. Just what a nervous wreck like myself needs. Sasha waltzes right in regardless, and climbs on top of me. Or, on top of the unlimited amount of blankets that I'm hiding underneath.  
  
"Sash, get the fuck  _off,_ " I protest, but she grabs the corners of the covers and pulls them off me entirely, "Dude, I said fuck off!" I raise my voice. She won't let up, however, and she decides to directly lie on top of me. As if I already didn't want all this attention.  
  
"The new guy's really nice and sweet, and he wants to meet you. So get your ass out of bed and go say hi." She instructs me.  
  
"I can't do that if you're using me as a god damn mattress." I oppose, trying to push her off with one hand. She rolls off me, lying beside me. I turn to face upwards, and we're lying parallel to eachother.   
  
"Please? All you have to do is say hi. You can go back to bed after." She tilts her head up to look at me, smiling comfortingly. She seems a little disappointed when she realises I suffer from a rare case of resting bitch-face syndrome. She tries to make light of it, though, and I find it pleasing.  
  
"Aw, you look so cute from this angle." She shuffles around to lay on her side and prods my cheek. I'm still just staring down at her dumbly. She pokes my cheek again.  
  
"Hey- stop that." I mutter, but I don't really mind. It's quite sweet that she's in a good mood, as long as she doesn't end up teasing me. Calling me cute is already risky, but it doesn't bother me simply because it's Sasha saying it. "Why do you always squish my face like that?" I ask.  
  
"S'cuz you're a cutie." She giggles. It's nice that she's saying that about me, but I just don't see it.  "Now, come on. He wants to see you." Sasha sits up. I think she knows I've been feeling down lately, because she brushes her hand against my head gently before she stands up to walk off. I take a moment before I get up myself, mostly just because of who I am as a person.  
  
After having another zombie-like experience once I've gotten out of bed, I trip down the stairs. I have my gloves on, since I still don't trust this mystery house mate to see my hands. And trust me, I have a perfectly good reason for that. It's just that none of us ever talk about it. The kitchen and the living room are connected, so if I go to make myself a morning coffee, that'll be the start of the social part of my day. My eyes barely staying open, I stagger over to the kettle.  
  
"Finally, the great Jean Kirschtein emerges from his slumber." Connie narrates. I give him a sarcastic laugh, not bothering to look over at the others just yet. I need to focus on waking myself up.  
  
"Oh, Jean! I know you. Creative writing, right?" The less-than-familiar voice continues. I  _do_ turn around now, just to see who's talking. Lo and behold, it's the freckled guy. He looks so organised, considering how early it is for the weekend. I never understood people who get up so early and act like it's nothing. This guy has smooth, shiny hair that's parted like a professional, and his outfit is completely neat. He's in a short sleeved grey button up, and this shirt shows off his body so much more nicely than the ones he wore throughout the week. He's wearing some light khakis, but unlike me, they suit him perfectly.  Now that I can see him upfront, I can see his face more clearly. He really is attractive, but he has a dorky smile that takes away from that illusion. Just like Sasha, he seems somewhat discouraged when he sees my expression. I haven't even said anything and I've already probably ruined my chances at befriending this guy.  
  
"Yeah, don't mind Jean. He's just a little touchy." Connie claims, and I shoot him a long, hard glare. "See?"  
  
"Very funny, guys. I'm just tired." I yawn, pouring some steaming water into a mix of sugar and instant coffee. I stir it together and go to stand by the sofas.   
  
"Don't worry, Marco. He acts all angry and tough but really, he's like this big teddy bear." Sasha assures him. Marco.  That's a pretty cool name. Honestly, I was terrified I'd hate this guy. But so far, he seems nice. He  _looks_ nice. I'm just worried I've already ruined the possibility of a friendship with my shitty attitude towards mornings.    
  
"Marco- That's Italian, right?" I ask, attempting to give him a small smile. I think it works, because that nerdy smile he wears becomes a heartwarming grin.  
  
"Yep. I'm Italian and Spanish." Now I look more closely, I can see it. I guess he must go to Europe a lot, since I can hear it in his accent. I go to sit down on the sofa. Connie reaches up for my head, but this time, he flattens out my hair. I guess I hadn't noticed the horrifying case of bedhead I have today.  
  
"That's pretty cool. My mom's from somewhere inn Europe, but I dunno. France, or Germany, or some shit." I tell him, drawing my feet up onto the sofa. The smile's left my face, but I'm content. Marco keeps eyeing my gloves, and I think he's debating asking me about them. Sasha notices, and decides to join the conversation.  
  
"So, Marco. Should we get you all settled into your new room? We can chill out after that." She stands up, reaching out for Marco's hand. Oh, no. She's gonna get all clingy with him, too, isn't she? Poor unfortunate soul. He's gonna have to live with unlimited hugs and hand-holds, now. If I were him, I'd regret moving in with the dreaded Sasha Blouse. He seems to be pretty happy about it all, though. He doesn't know what he's getting into - but if it doesn't bother him, well, each to his own.


	3. These Streets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean goes out for a walk and meets someone he didn't expect to.

I watch as Sasha and Marco leave the room, pulling my knees to my chest and testing my coffee. I end up burning my tongue, but I feel worse when everyone turns to look at me as I splutter. As Marco exits, I notice something about him that isn't quite so symmetrical as the rest of him. His sleeve. It has three badges pinned to it, in a perfect row. Pink, blue, yellow. They look like they came out of some shitty little girl's magazine he found at the store. It's a little odd, but I might as well not question it. I mean, I'm the one wearing elbow-length black leather gloves with my pyjamas right now.  Once Sasha and Marco are safely out of view, Connie speaks up.  
  
"He's nice, right?" He comments, leaning beside me. I think he's probably tired too, since he ends up curling up beside me and using the soft part of my arm as a cushion. God, don't make it gay, Connie.  
  
"Yeah. Like he said, we've seen eachother around already. He was late for the first lecture. He seemed pretty worried, but the lecturer was nice, so..." I tell him, managing to take another sip of my coffee without burning my tongue out. Connie nods, staring out of the window.  
  
"Before you got your lazy ass out of bed, I had a chance to talk to him. He, uh... I think he gets a little anxious when things go wrong. Dunno, though." He tells me. This Marco guy seems nice enough, but I feel like there's something up with him. I'm not entirely sure, though. I decide not to stress myself out over it, stretching out. 

 

* * *

  
After a few hours, I'm starting to feel the effects of having a newbie in the house. The atmosphere suddenly feels a lot more tense than usual, as if we all have to be on our best behaviour.  Marco, as we've discovered, is less like a housemate and more of a cleaner. Everything smells of Febreeze now, and nothing is out of place. The only places untouched are our personal rooms. I have to say, it's pretty nice having such a tidy house for once, but Marco's way of doing it is kinda strange. The book cases are colour coded, but the colour always changes after three in a row. Three reds, three blues, three greens, and then it repeats. It's best not to question it - I mean, everyone has little differences like this, right? I know how it feels to be asked about the stuff you do, the weird, unique stuff nobody else does. Sometimes, it can be a sensitive topic, and I get that. I might as well just leave Marco to his own devices.  
  
As pleasant as the neat new surroundings are, I feel like I'd be more comfortable in the isolation of my own room. Curled up on the bed with my laptop. Sometimes, even with friends like Connie and Sasha, a good TV series will do me just fine.  I bury myself in blankets and peek out as  _'Previously on Skins'_ blares across the screen. I'm on season two at the moment, and I can't help but feel a certain relation to the main guy, Tony Stonem. He started out as a complete asshole who only cared about himself. Then, he got into an accident, and suddenly it was like the whole world was attacking him. What a great sense of Deja Vu.   
  
I'm sat here for a while, watching Sid finally break down to Tony about the passing of Peter Capaldi, when I hear a knock on my bedroom door. It's rhythmic.  _Knock, Knock, Knock._  I let a short grunt escape my throat and pause Netflix, and the door opens. The new guy's decided to talk to me, it seems. Looks like I didn't totally blow my chances with him after all.  He stares down at me. He doesn't seem exactly intimidated. He's more... Worried.  
  
"Hey." He utters softly. I pull the covers further around myself, staring back up at him. It's too dark in here to see his face properly, with the curtains closed and the only source of light being from the door and my shitty Toshiba laptop.   
  
"Uh... Hi." I mumble back to him. I look away after a short while, hoping he'll do the same. I hate being looked at. People think I'm weird for it, but I have reasons. Makes me anxious. Even without looking up at the human embodiment of a starry sky in front of me, I can tell he's noticed. He sits down on the edge of the bed. Then, he gets back up again and closes the door.  _Then_ he settles down, perching at the corner of the mattress.  
  
"Uh- Sorry. I just thought, well, we didn't really speak much earlier. We might as well get to know eachother, right? Connie and Sasha are very nice, and... Gosh, I can go if you want. Sorry, again." He sounds so nervous. I realise now how dull and uninterested my expression is. It's the only one I'm able to pull, it seems. I hate myself for it, because he really does seem nice. I'm aggressive by default. Maybe we're just not meant to be.   
  
"No, no. It's fine. I should be apologising, I must seem like a jackass. I just... People aren't my thing." Fuck, I sound like such a downer. Jean Kirschtein, professional burden. Maybe I should just live on my own and spare these guys the pain of living with a sentient rock. Who would want something so heavy, untouchable and boring taking up space in their house, anyway?   
  
"Yeah- I totally get that. Sorry, again. I'll just leave you here. 'S fine, really. I was just- uh, yeah. Nice to meet you." Marco gets up to leave, but I almost don't want him to. He seems nice enough. I just wish I didn't have to fuck everything up by being  _me_. I sigh, knowing I should say something.  Except, I don't. I let him open the door, and walk out. He closes the door behind him, and then I'm alone. Sat in this dank little room  with a mouldy patch in the corner of the ceiling, wrapped up in a blanket and binge watching a British teen drama. Working my way through an entire packet of Oreos, simply because there's nobody here to stop me. I can't even seem to stop myself. I have my life so perfectly together, don't I?  
  


* * *

  
Connie and Sasha are out, and the sweet out-of-my-league freckled new guy is still busy getting settled in. After I put him off myself earlier on, he went to his room. He's been there for a few hours now, not making a sound. I hate to say that  _I,_ of all people, am nervous, but I am. I don't want to check on him. I don't know what to expect, really. Instead, I decide to go out for a walk. Apart from taking seemingly never-ending baths, a nice stroll in the autumn afternoon will usually calm me right down. It's not exactly like I can get away with staying in my room all day like I usually do - I'm not entirely sure why, but this time around it just feels kinda  _wrong._  Something is telling me to get out of the house, but i'm not sure what or why. But still, it gives me an excuse to go shopping before the shops all close early on a Sunday.  
  
There are trees all around here, even though we're in the city. Leaves are floating from the sky, and they're honestly beautiful to look at. If the warm-yet-breezy atmosphere out here wasn't soothing enough, those auburn, yellow and red patterns above me send my mood up pretty nicely. At least, for a short while they do. There's a satisfying  _crunch_ under my feet as I walk over them, shoving my gloved hands into my jeans' pockets. I'm wearing a cable-knit cardigan, since it's just cool enough out here to get away with it without melting underneath. Besides, it's comfy. I doubt I would've ever bought this thing for myself - it was a birthday present from Sasha. At least   _somebody_ remembered. Looking at you, Springer.   
  
I finally end up in the store. This is where my relaxation state likes to evaporate within seconds. You see, I don't really like being looked at. Call it a phobia, if you have to. I've come to realise recently that I have quite a few of them. I hate to admit I stayed up a whole night studying them. I wouldn't be surprised if my anxiety had a thing or two to do with it. It's pretty funny how I can concentrate more on the things that terrify me, rather than my actual school work. I know every phobia I have by name and definition by now. I can list them all, but I'm already on enough of a mood drop.   
  
Scopophobia. That's what's tearing me apart this very moment. I feel like everyone's looking at me, even if they're facing the other way. Judging me and laughing. Shopping's an excuse to get out of the house, sure. Doesn't mean it's an enjoyable one. I grab a basket and make my way around the aisles. I pick up a couple of packets of ramen, quite a few soup cans and a bag of bagels. I also end up grabbing a tube of Pringles and a large bottle of cola, even if I regret it. Before you go saying I have a junk food addiction, stop yourself. It's just not as simple as that. The guilt's already taking me over at it is.   
  
I pay for the food at the self-checkout, since I can't seem to bring myself to socialise with a cashier today. I keep my eyes fixed on the touchscreen display, telling myself there's nobody around to see. I manage to pay for it all and shove it into one plastic bag, but it's pretty heavy. I just hope I can carry it all the way back home. As I'm leaving the store, I notice how nice the sky is at this time of the day. Once again, it's lifting my spirits. I think autumn must be my favourite season. It really is magnificent.  I decide to take the scenic route back, since I haven't had the chance to explore such a nice afternoon in a long time. So much for being a recluse.  
  
Even though there's practically nobody around to see me, I still feel somewhat self-conscious. This cardigan's comfy, but it's pretty chunky. Makes me look much bigger than I need to, or would like to. Not to mention the carrier bag full of food I'm holding. It just adds to that horrible stereotype I've been trying to avoid so much.  _Clearly overweight man who eats too much._  In all my life, I never would've thought  _I_ was going to be the one to turn out that way. But I did, and there's no sugarcoating it. I'm fat. Forty five pounds over what I should be, or at least what I was three years ago. And I absolutely, completely, fucking loathe it. But, I have to put up with it. I have to keep going whether I like it or not.   
  
I continue walking down the leafy path until I finally bypass someone. I would usually ignore them - avoid them, even - but I know him. It's Armin. Once again, he's not hanging around with Jaeger. I'm starting to wonder whether he and him still talk any more, since I haven't seen the two around eachother at all. It's actually Armin who stops to talk to me, to my surprise. He seems pretty nervous, and he has earbuds in. I honestly just feel confused at this point.  
  
"Jean- Hi. Long time no see." He greets me quietly. He's pretty amiable, he's just shy about it. He pulls an earbud out, and I can hear the music pumping from the speaker very faintly. I don't recognise the song, but I can assume from what I'm hearing that Armin has some good taste.   
  
"Yeah, it's been a while. Like... Three years?" I decide to keep the conversation going. I'm pretty rude to most people, but the lack of a certain angry German brunette in the surroundings gives me a chance to be sincere with the short coconut-head in front of me. He smiles nervously, and I realise how aggressive my expression must be once again. I'm in a state of perpetual displeasure, as always.   
  
"Mhm. Sorry about Eren being... Eren. He gets a little judgemental. I- I'm sure he doesn't mean it. I wasn't by him to stop him, and... I hope he didn't upset you." Is this why he's stopping me? Just to apologise for something he didn't even do? He could've done this at any point during the week, so why now? When we've just met up by chance?   
  
"It's fine. He's just being a douche like usual, right?" I try to wave it off, but I don't think Armin buys it. I wish he did. I wish he didn't see right through everyone. I wish I knew just what it was he was seeing in me  _right now._  
  
"Um... Do you have any spare time? I just thought I might- I don't know- Maybe I could catch up with you. See how you were doing." All right, story time. A couple of years ago, Armin was somewhat of a counsellor to me. We went to the same school, and he helped me through some stupid shit. That must be why he's so keen to talk all of a sudden. Looking at me, he probably feels guilty. I didn't turn out quite how I think he'd expected I would, did I? I don't exactly see how I can decline his offer, though.  
  
"We're going the same way, right? We can walk and talk." I suggest. God, for a literature student, I sure do hate words that rhyme like that. Armin chuckles though, so I guess it's acceptable. We wander down the path, and Armin decides to strike up another conversation.  
  
"Feeling any better?" He asks. I know what he's referring to, and I honestly don't feel like talking about it. It's just a stupid accident from a couple of years ago, which just happened to be so bad I needed moral support from the guy. I adjust my grip on the carrier bag, which is starting to put a strain on my fingers, and look downwards.  
  
"Armin, that was so long ago now. I'm sick of thinking about it." I tell him in a low voice. To my dismay, he's looking up at me. Not my face, but at my  _neck._  With my free hand, I reach up to rub it. The collar of my cardigan's covering most of it, but I realise now just what he's looking at. One of those stupid scars that never faded. It's pinker than the rest of my skin, rippled, and  _there._  It's the one I don't hide, because nobody except Eren's irritatingly hot sister can pull off wearing a scarf every day.  
  
"Oh. Well- sorry. I didn't mean that. You just seem... down." He mentions, as if it isn't already fucking obvious enough. I shouldn't be mean, but I am. It's in my nature. We get it. I'm god damn depressed. What else is new? I have to hold in my frustration, and I clench my fists. Fuck, this shopping bag is hurting my arm now.   
  
"I always am. It's basically just become a part of me by now. I should get a name tag reading, ' _Hi, I'm  Depressed!'_. Save me the explanation for every new wanker I meet." I laugh a little at my own insult.  _Wanker._ That British drama I've been so invested in is rubbing off on me. It's just a funny word, I guess.   
  
"Heh, yeah. But in all seriousness... If you need someone, I'm still here for you. I just wanna help." He offers. It's sweet of him, but every single fucking person does the same thing. They see me; a depressed, anxious student, and assume all I want is their pity. It's not. I just want to get on with my life without all the shitty problems added to it.  
  
"Thanks, but I'm no basket case. I can survive on my own just fine." I guess I must sound stupid every time I wave it off, because if everyone is so adamant that I seem upset, maybe there's just no helping me. It bugs me that I have to be this way. Even when I'm happy, I'm not. Every day is a bad day for me. Every date is a rain check. All I ever want to do is curl up on my own, surrounded by blankets and junk food. Maybe with an added Connie or Sasha to lighten the mood further, but that's a given. I vaguely miss those long-forgotten days where I'd play soccer after school and be the star player of every match. The days where I was hot, despite being a pubescent teenager. The days where Eren... No, fuck that. I don't want to go back to those days at all. I don't want to go back to being what I was then. What Eren is now. A bully.  
  
"Well, if you're sure." Armin finally gives in. He looks down, fumbling with his phone. "Sorry- This song just... I needed to turn it off." I sometimes wonder if Armin has his own problems. If he does, I'll bet everything I'm carrying right now that his music is how he copes. I suppose coping mechanisms are different for everyone. Armin's music is a healthy one. The thing that bothers me is that mine  _isn't._ You know you've fallen into complete shit when your mind decides to fight one disorder using another. I'm not a junk food addict like most people think, you know. I have  _BED_ and it's the bane of my fucking existence.   
  


* * *

  
Eventually, Armin and I part ways. I make it back home, but I don't feel much better than I did when I first left the place. I don't think Connie or Sasha are back home yet, and god knows what Marco's up to. My arm feels like it's about to drop off. I stumble through the house, making my way to the kitchen, groaning as I drag the bag with me. This is the part where everything goes wrong.   
  
The bag just drops from my hand. The contents spill over the floor, and I nearly fall to my knees from the pain. I can't feel my hand all too well, but it hurts like fuck. It's like the nerve's been somewhat disconnected from the rest of my arm, and my fingers won't move. They're stiff and painful, but limp. It's not the first time this has happened, but every time it does, it  _terrifies_ me. I have two different phobias that spawned from this experience, which I go through more than I'd wish I did.  Ankylophobia and Ataxiophobia. I sound like such a fucking nerd, knowing the names of these things. Who the fuck even feels these fears? Who else in the world gets a jolt of terror every time their joints stiffen up, every time their fingers twitch beyond their control? I'm weak. I hate this. I hate  _me._    
  
I'm crouched on the floor, cradling my hand. I don't want to cause a scene, even though I doubt anyone is here to notice. Even so, I let out a yelp.  I try to massage the rigid hand with my healthy one, but it doesn't do much. I have to wait it out, or get some pain killers, or  _something._  My breathing is heavy and I try to stifle another small cry of pain, but I can't. It's louder than I expect it to be, and now I know I'm not home alone. I hear someone rapidly charge down the stairs and burst into the room. I'm not looking, but I have a feeling it's the new guy. Without hesitation, he comes to help me up. I just flinch and yell out again, this time mostly because I'm behind handled by a stranger.   
  
"Jean, what happened?" I manage to look up at the guy. Up this close, I can see his freckles in more detail. They're everywhere. He seems pretty concerned, too. Now that his dorky smile is gone, I can see just how captivating his features really are. Those round eyes, that Nordic nose... Oh God. I'm talking about a guy I've barely known a fucking day. We've spoken twice. I'm being a fucking creep. I'm injured, so why the hell do I see this as an opportunity to check out the new roomie? What the actual fuck is wrong with me?  
  
"My hand- it... It just went stiff. It's nothing. It happens all the time." I explain, trying to sound calm. He nods, but he still seems worried. I'm standing up now, and he's holding me up by my upper arms.  _Please don't hold me there._  I feel like we're fucking Jack and Rose. Not to mention, I don't really appreciate anyone but Connie and Sasha touching me. I'm insecure enough as it is. Next thing, he'll be telling me just how soft I am. God, no.   
  
"What do you mean? Do you have treatment or anything?" I'm glad that he's not freaking out, which is nice. Well, it's nice until he goes to try and take my glove off, to which I respond by unkindly slapping his hand away. I don't mean to hurt him, and thankfully, I don't think I did. I take deep breaths, facing him properly now.  
  
"Don't- Don't take my gloves. Okay?" I request, at least trying my best not to sound like a complete asshole. He gives me a smile, which reassures me just a little. Once he's sure I'm okay to just stand here, he drops to the floor and picks up all the food I dropped everywhere. Fuck me, I'm a god damn klutz. It's not cute like in the storybooks, either.  He places the cans of soup - six in total, into two sets of three. He puts everything out laid neatly on the counter, before making his way back to me.  
  
"What happened? Are you okay? Is there- Is there anything I can do?"  All people do is worry about me. The difference is, this time I actually need it. I'm physically hurt. I like Marco more and more with each second I spend with him. I just wonder if he feels the same way about me. Probably not. I'm the physical embodiment of a burden.  
  
"I have weak tendons. I said I deal with it all the time, okay? Don't... Don't worry about it." I look around desperately for something to help myself with. The faucet catches my eye, and I weakly stride over to it. I put the plug in the sink and start running a bowl of hot water. "I just need to soak it, is all." I assure him. Making sure he isn't looking, I slip my glove off and dip my hand into the bowl of water.  
  
"Are you completely sure? Is there anything else you need?" He's being so damn persistent. Well, at least his concern is more helpful than anyone else's usually is. I shake my head, making sure he won't come any closer out of fear of seeing me gloveless. I have my reasons. I'm not just being petty here. I think he respects my privacy, because he watches me from the other side of the room, glancing over at the lounge area.  
  
"You know, when I'm hurt or upset, I have hot chocolate. Do you want some? I don't mind making it." He proposes, smiling with that dorky smile that had faded not so long ago earlier. Realising he probably isn't going to look at my hands again, I pull my other glove off with my teeth and massage my stiffened-up fingers. It's an odd thing to say, but I really like Marco so far. This is the fastest I've ever warmed up to someone before in my life. I wonder if he's warming up to me, or if he's just being nice? Considering how opposed to socialising I usually am, this guy's bringing out a more friendly side of me I haven't seen before. I think I like it. 


	4. Laughter Lines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean and Marco learn more about eachother.

It's not long before I begin to regain  movement in my fingers. Marco's watching the microwave as a Disney-themed mug filled with milk spins around inside. At least he isn't watching me as I dry my considerably ugly hands and slip them back into their gloves, where they belong.  I've lost focus on the rest of the room, until I hear a small 'ding' from the microwave across the room.   
  
"You should go and rest. You look a little pale, to be honest. At least sit on the sofa." Marco instructs me, stirring some instant cocoa into the milk. I do as I'm told without a word, mostly because I feel too embarrassed at myself  to speak. I'm not exactly sitting, I'm curled up on my side and hugging a cushion to my chest. I still have my shoes on, but they're lace-ups and my hands are stressed enough already. A moment later, Marco steps over and hands me my drink. He sits down beside me, but he's a lot more neat about it. He sits up straight with his elbows resting on his knees. I can't seem to stop admiring how good he looks. He seems like some kind of model. Every move, every pose he makes is precise. He seems too perfect. Someone this ideal has to be hiding something. I'm just not sure what it is.  
  
I look down at my drink. Even this hot chocolate seems flawless. Perfectly stirred, with three little marshmallows bobbing about in the hot liquid. I didn't even know we owned marshmallows. My hands are shaking, and I'm scared I'll spill the drink and ruin everything. Most importantly, this cushion. This is a nice cushion. I have no intent to wreck this cushion. It did nothing wrong.  
  
"Drink up, it helps." Marco tells me. Luckily, the cocoa's not as scorching as I expect it to be and I gulp it down gladly. It's surprisingly good, though I do have a bit of a sweet tooth anyway. I don't look at Marco again while I sip my drink, but he's looking at me. Watching me, supposedly to make sure I'm okay. I'm only here so that people have someone to look after, aren't I? Maybe I really am a basket case after all. It's strange, remembering how adamant I used to be that I could get along just fine on my own. Fifteen year old me was an idiot, just so you know.  
  
I don't want to be the irritating little loner any more, anyway. As much as I hate talking to people I barely know, I might as well strike up a conversation with Marco. I just want to know more about him. More about what might be hiding behind that perfect appearance. Either I'm right, and there's something deep within him that I need to unlock, or I'm being pretentious. I'm a writer. I like complex characters, or at least the idea of one. I like to imagine this Marco guy isn't all he seems. I just don't know how bad the consequences could be if I find out everything there is to know. Sometimes, secrets are better left as they are.

"So- uh... How are you settling in?" I ask between short sips of my cocoa.   
  
"Pretty well. I spent a while decorating my room, just needed that out of the way." He laughs softly, peering around the room. He's done a lot of work in here too, and it's pretty apparent. I don't mind too much, though, since it's actually nice to have a clean house after endless parties obliterating all the furniture time and time again. It's satisfying to see everything aligned, so I already have something else to thank the new roomie for.   
  
"Yeah- I don't think I would've noticed what you were up to, anyway. I'm either in my room or out entirely. Nothing personal, I'm just..."  
  
"Not a people person?" Marco interrupts me. "Don't worry, I get that." He nods reassuringly. His mouth is slightly agape, and I think he's about to ask me something. I just hope to god that it isn't about my gloves. I grip the mug slightly tighter, waiting for him to continue. I feel awkward, and I think he does too because of that. Way to fucking go, me.   
  
"What was all the soup about?" He finally speaks, and I feel relief fill me from toe to head. Now that's something I  _can_ explain. My worried expression leaves my face and I prepare to speak.  
  
"Connie and Sasha. They, uh- They get drunk a lot. I have to be the so-called 'responsible friend' and make sure they don't charge into the food hall while they're pissed off their heads or something, so I stock the cupboards with stuff like soup. Easy to heat and eat, not far beyond their comprehension. Nah... I have better taste than that." I explain, pretty gladly. I don't want to come off as some freak who lives on nothing but hot liquid tomatoes, you know?  
  
"Ah- Yeah, that makes sense. So, you go down to the hall?" He queries. I know he's seen me in there a couple of times, but it's only ever been because two certain dipshits like to drag me down there every evening. I shrug, looking back down at my drink.  
  
"Sometimes. I'd rather stay at home and order something in, but I guess it's easier to follow the crowd. Didn't used to be like that, I just prefer to go... unnoticed." I inform the guy. It's starting to get darker, so I get up and flick on the lights. Marco waits patiently while I do so. When I come back to sit by him, I guess he has more to say.  
  
"Going out is fun, though! You know, since I do a lot of travelling, I like to go back to my roots a lot. If you're interested, I know this really nice Italian restaurant in town. Great if you're a foodie. I have to say, I do a fair bit of cooking, myself." He seems ecstatic to tell someone about his interests. Maybe he doesn't get to talk about them a lot, and now I'm here, listening. Either that or he just likes talking to me.  _Highly_ doubt the latter."...Oh, damn. Just listen to me go on. I'm a little patriotic, I guess. Amo l'Italia." He smiles, and it's a cute, bashful, one-sided smile.   
  
"So, you cook, you write, what else?" I still feel pretty curious about the guy. He seems creative as hell, he's been pretty much everywhere, and he's all kinds of out-of-my-league. In fact, he's not just out of my league. He's in an unattainable dimension away from it. He's The Doctor and I'm Rose Tyler after Doomsday.  
  
"I'm a photographer." He clarifies, quite simply. Jesus fuck, is there anything in the arts this guy  _doesn't_ do? What else is he, a Broadway actor? I watch his expression, and he's biting his lip. He's not focussing on me, so I'm free to analyse his face as long as he doesn't catch my gaze. It sounds a little dumb, but I like his face. I'm not just a writer, I'm an artist. Marco seems like the perfect person to do a study of. His face, his body, every single freckle translated onto paper. In this sense, I guess we could go hand-in-hand. He takes pictures of things, I draw them.  
  
"What kind of stuff do you photograph?" I query. I don't know what kind of answer I'm expecting, and I doubt it'll affect me too much. I just want to know more about him, listen to his voice. He's fascinating to me, like that one piece of art you see in a gallery that you could stop and stare at for an hour straight. At first, it looks a little shoddy. Maybe not the best thing ever, but it has a few pretty aspects. Then you look closer, and you want to know everything. The inspiration, the meaning, even the type of paint used to mix those beautifully vibrant colours.   
  
"Everything I want to remember in life. Once, I did a little project to motivate me to wake up early every morning. For a year, I took a picture of the same tree down the road from my house at seven AM on the dot. Watched how it grew, developed, saw its leaves change from green to orange, and then to none at all. Had to cut the study a month short, though." He explains, his eyes moving back to focus on me again. I instinctively stare down at my drink once more.  
  
"Why did you have to stop?" His story actually leaves me a little intrigued. Jeez, this guy can make a bloody  _tree_ sound interesting. I need to get out more.   
  
"They cut it down. I took one final picture of the stump they left and kept it at that. I have the whole thing saved as a montage on my laptop, if you want to see. You don't have to, if you don't want. It's in my room, anyway." Modesty takes control, and my head cricks upright to look at him. I want to see this more than I'd expected I would. God knows, that tree probably has a more interesting life than I do.  
  
"Show it to me. So, it's like, a video?" My voice sounds a lot more enthralled now. Not like me at all. My two emotions are either sad or uninterested. Make that three, if you want to add in the general hatred for most of the living creatures on this planet I call home.  
  
"Yeah. I only used Movie Maker, but it did the job." Marco notes, standing up and holding the door open for me. I get up, still clutching the cocoa in my gloved hands. Truth be told, I think the heat stuck the mug and the leather together. Oh well.  
  


* * *

  
Marco's room is alien to me. In a house which is usually covered with toilet roll streamers, stinking with alcohol stains and generally covered in ceiling mould, the new guy's room is a breath of fresh air. Pretty literally, since it smells like he's used up half a can of Febreeze in here. I don't blame him, though. Like I said, this house stinks as shitty as it looks. I don't get why he wanted to move here, in all honesty. The pattern of threes is still running strong. Three pillows on the bed. Three little notebooks on the shelf. I think the most prominent thing I've learned about Marco today is that,  _surprise surprise_ , he likes the number three. Doesn't really bother me, it's just a little difficult to comprehend at first.   
  
Marco flops onto his perfectly neat bed, crumpling the otherwise flat-as-a-table bed sheets. He ducks his head over the side and drags out a laptop. It's nicer than mine; a blue HP pavilion. I bet it runs Windows 10. Just fucking wait. He sits upright again and pats the space next to him, gesturing for me to sit beside him. I do so, hearing the mattress creak in the otherwise-silent room.   
  
It takes the guy a few moments to log on. To my internal dismay, it's Windows 7. He has a huge portfolio file, and it takes him longer than expected to sift through it to find the video he needs. Marco triple-taps the touchpad, and music hums softly through the speakers as the montage begins.  
  
The lyrics are strangely fitting.  _"You took me to your favourite place on Earth, to see the tree they cut down ten years from your birth"._  The video's a couple of minutes long. It starts in Spring, and the tree's filled with blossoms. The transition between each picture is cheetah-quick and every photo is perfectly aligned. Marco really knows his stuff. It actually feels a little depressing. It's a magnificent tree, and it has an old swing swaying gently between each photo. Before the song has a chance to end, the tree's gone. The swing lies alone on the ground, and all that's left is a stump in the cold winter setting.  It leaves a reasonably sized impression on me, actually. I wonder if that's why Marco left the picture of the stump in there at all.   
  
"So, there. Sorry for the shaky  camera shots and all, this is almost five years old now." Marco apologises, though there's no need for him to do so at all. It's actually a really good montage, and each image is bewitching and precise.  
  
"Hang on, five years? You did this when you were thirteen?" I blurt out, before I can bring myself to praise him in any other way.  
  
"Yeah. Photography's been a hobby of mine for a while. Gives me things to collect as memories. Most of the images saved on this computer are just visual nostalgia for me." He explains, clicking the X in the corner of the video and closing the laptop's lid.   
  
"Deep." I comment, a cocky smirk forming on my lips. I don't get nostalgia, not really. Not when most of my memories are bad ones. Memories I'd rather forget. It's not exactly like my current life's any better, though.   
  
"Kinda. I just like keeping these things with me. Photography's a bit of an escape, I guess. We all have them. Things that help us cope." There it is.  If my shitty, angst-fuelled mind was searching for anything, this is what it's been on the lookout for. He's not just a sweet face after all, is he? Mind you, everyone has history. Everyone has something shitty in their lives. Why am I so damn curious about Marco, huh? God, I feel like a stalker. Maybe it's just best if I change the subject. Yep, let's do that instead. I nod in response, and then open my mouth to speak.  
  
"What were you saying about that Italian restaurant?" I take another sip from my hot chocolate, which isn't so hot any more. Lukewarm chocolate would be a more fitting title.   
  
"Oh, right! Well, it's a family-run business and it's pretty authentic. The food's great and the atmosphere there is just so... calming. Have you ever been to Venice? It's as tranquil in that restaurant as the views of the Grand Canal in the evening." And Connie calls  _me_ poetic. I shake my head.  
  
"Never left America. Well, except for that one time mom took me to meet my grandparents in Strasbourg. I was three, though, so I don't think it counts." I might've been a toddler when I went to France, but I still remember occasional tidbits from that week. By 'week', I mean the plane journey. I cried the whole time because I didn't like the food from the hostess cart. Talk about a fussy eater.   
  
"Still, you got to go to Europe. It's so beautiful over there. I could use up so many memory cards taking pictures in places like Paris and London and...  Never mind. I'm rambling." Marco cuts himself short, but I want to hear more. I like hearing his voice, hearing about his interests. It's refreshing to have an  _actual conversation_ with someone, instead of having every word spoken to me being either pity or abuse. I'm being treated like an actual person, instead of some lost puppy begging for a hug.   
  
"You can carry on. Doesn't bother me. Ramble to your heart's content." I urge him, putting my mug down on the floor and folding my arms.  
  
"No, I better not. I have coursework to do, and it's getting dark. Are Connie and Sasha gonna be back soon?" Marco turns the offer down, to my dismay. I really love listening to the things he has to say.    
  
"Okay, fine. We still need a date for that restaurant place, by the way." I remind him, standing up and heading for the door.   
  
"Next Friday, maybe? We could bring the others, too." He suggests, and I'm wondering if he might bring Armin and the black haired girl along with him. I don't want to go with a big party. Even so, if I don't, it might turn into a date. God, I'm childish. It's just two guys going out for Italian. That's all.  
  
"If you really want to. They're not exactly the best people to take out for food, though. They'll make the bills go up." I tell Marco, hoping it'll put him off the idea of inviting them. Connie and Sasha are my best friends, really. I just don't want everything I do to involve them.  
  
"Really? Well, I guess it could be just you and me. Whatever makes you more comfortable." He gives me a warm smile as I lean on the doorway. His range of smiles is as big as his photography portfolio, and I want to see every single one. Jeez, I'm cheesy as fuck. End me, now.  
  
"Okay. Friday it is, then. Let's see... Six?"  
  
"Six sounds good. You know, it's nice meeting you. And I mean,  _meeting._  Not wandering into your room and saying hi. You seem really sweet." I audibly snort at that last part, and I cover my face before he can see.  
  
"Oh, Marco. You have a lot to learn. I'm, like, the opposite of sweet. First impressions aren't everything." And with that, I stride off. Talking to Marco's given me a strange sense of confidence. Though, really, I'm not confident at all. I am not a sweet person. This guy knows nothing.  _He's_ sweet for saying that to me, I suppose. I'm telling you now, though. I'm sour. Someone made the face they'd make while eating a lemon after speaking to me once. Naiveness comes with kindness. My new roommate is not going to go far with this attitude, I'm sorry.   
  


* * *

  
After awkwardly strutting away from Marco's room, I do what I always do. Pull on some oversized pyjamas, curl up in bed and continue to binge Netflix as usual. I stay here for a while, buried under the covers. After two or three episodes, I hear the front door open. The drunks are back. From the sounds of things,  _very_  drunk. I'm not gonna enjoy tonight. This house has thin walls. You can hear everything.  _Everything._  Checking the time, I realise it's about eight now. Getting late, and it's dark outside. As long as Connie and Sasha are occupied in their room, and Marco's busy with his coursework, I'm on my own. I could go and take one of my hour-long baths. It seems like a good idea, but I'm comfortable as I am. Sighing, I plug my headphones in and turn the volume up louder. Even living in the  _Skins_ verse would be more relaxing than the life I live.   
  
My prediction comes true an hour later. Even with my headphones in, the repeated creaking of the mattress is too distracting for me to focus. Poor Marco, I should've warned him about this. Pausing Netflix and shutting the lid of my laptop, I trudge downstairs with my phone and earbuds in hand. The lights are turned off, and I fumble around for the switch.  The noises coming from Connie and Sasha's room are still audible from down here, but I shove the headphones into my ears and press play on my phone. I grab the Pringles and Cola from the counter and head over to the lounge area.   
  
I do this more often than I'd like to think I do. When I'm bored or sad, I tend to resort to this. I don't know why. I wish I didn't, but I do. Instead of trying to cheer up, or do something with my life, or generally try to be productive, I end up curling into a ball of self pity on the sofa whilst eating junk food and listening to shitty music. It's dumb as hell, and I can't seem to stop myself. Connie and Sasha know I do this, but they don't try to help. It's been going on for so long that they've basically given up. I've given up, too.   
  
I don't come down here purely to eat chips, of course. I check my phone, stare around the room, sit as close to the window as I can and watch the street outside. Of course, after yet another hour passes, I'm halfway through the green cardboard tube of artery failure. I'm just lying there, staring up at the ceiling. Hugging a cushion to my chest, as if for some kind of incompetent comfort to counter my abysmal coping mechanism. Yeah, right. This isn't even coping. This is pigging out until I go into a food coma and forget I have a bunch of unresolved issues. I'm goddamn unreasonable.   
  
I wish I'd gone for a late night bath instead. At least that isn't destroying me the way this most likely is. The bouncing of the mattress upstairs has faded, and my playlist's looped twice and ended. I'm in complete silence. I don't like being alone, truthfully. I'm considering going to bed. I'll bet everyone else is. I'm about to get up, when I hear the floorboards above me squeak. Nope, somebody's still awake. I lie completely still, praying whoever it is won't come downstairs and see me in such a miserable state.   
  
After a few minutes of more silence, I decide I'm safe. I pick up the tube of Pringles and the cola, and shove them both into the cupboards. Quietly, I trudge upstairs. All the bedroom doors are shut, except for mine. This is to be expected, of course. I lazily close the door behind me and climb into bed. Fuck, the laptop's still here. I shove it onto the floor and pull the mountain of blankets over myself. As I'm about to turn off the lamp on the bedside table, I notice something stuck to it. Something that most definitely wasn't there before.   
  
A bright magenta post it note stares me in the face. I don't own post it notes, especially not tacky ones you'd find in a dollar store. I rip it off the lampshade and read it. The handwriting is attractive. Every letter is neat and easy to read. This is in no way the work of Miss Redhead or Mr Baldy.   
 __  
"I think your gloves are nice, by the way. Not tacky like that guy from CW says."  
  
It's unsigned, but it's pretty easy to tell who it's from. I'm gonna take a guess and say 'CW' is Creative Writing. Marco's going out of his way to be nice to me, huh? Fuck. I've been fucking blind, once again. A complete idiot. Oh, you're smart, Sir Italy. Real clever. I really am just a broken piece of shit to you, aren't I? Like I am to everyone else. I'm a nutcase, I get it. No need to rub it in. I don't need anyone's pity. If that's seriously what this guy's thinking of doing to me, he can think again. I'm getting to the point where I just want to seclude myself from everyone and live on my own. I don't need friends. Hell, I don't deserve them after the crap I've put people through. I don't need Connie, I don't need Sasha, and I certainly don't need Marco.  
  
I crumple the post it note up and hurl it into the trash can at the other side of the room. I manage to land it in one go. Turning off my lamp and crumpling the blankets in my fists, I finally try to settle down to sleep. I'm sick and tired of everything. I don't want to have to speak to anyone. I don't even want to see their faces. I'm feeling all kinds of irritable right now, and I should probably just sleep it off. Even so, as stupid as it sounds, I think my opinion on Marco's gone down rapidly in a matter of minutes. I don't want to hate him, I really don't. I just don't want him to see me as a sob story. 


End file.
